


To See The Cherry Hung With Snow

by Himring



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Falling In Love, Gen, Hope, M/M, Spring, Trees, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 07:37:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1258255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Himring/pseuds/Himring
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maedhros and a cherry tree. <br/>(Well, three cherry trees, but one by one.)<br/>Two stories, only tangentially connected:</p><p>I: Maedhros and Fingon and a cherry tree: first in Mithrim and later in Valinor, outside the gates of Lorien. (M/M)</p><p>II: During the Fell Winter in eastern Beleriand (Gen)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To See the Cherry Hung with Snow: Take 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from a poem by A.E. Housman.
> 
> In the first story, as in the poem, the snow on the cherry tree is metaphorical: the branches are hung with blossom.  
> In the second story, written in answer to a challenge by Beorning on SWG, the snow is literally snow.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maedhros and Fingon and a cherry tree: first in Mithrim and later in Valinor, outside the gates of Lorien.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Quenya names: Maitimo=Maedhros; Findekano=Fingon)

 

The pain stops so suddenly that he almost topples over, as if he had been bracing himself against a wall that had unexpectedly given way. Findekano’s arm about his shoulders steadies him.

‘Maitimo, what it is it?’

He cannot answer. Surprise has robbed him of the power of speech. The effort that it was taking him to lift his foot, inch it forward and set it on the ground again, shifting his weight onto it—body upright, head high and leaning on Findekano as little as possible—and not to whimper with pain or howl with rage… Tormented by the searing grip of Findekano’s fingers, but terrified his cousin would let him fall.  Now, suddenly, he can barely feel his body or the ground under his feet. Such lightness!

A flowering branch swims into his field of vision and he focusses on it dizzily, staring at it as if he had never seen such a thing before. (In fact, he hasn’t—nothing quite like this.) No leaves yet, but a froth of white blossom on each bare twig, like an eruption of sunlight sparkling in sunlight against clear blue sky. Amazing.

‘Maitimo, what is it?’

Findekano! This is the time—this is the chance finally to say the simple, inadequate, obvious things—long overdue—like ‘Thank you!’ and ‘Sorry!’ And he turns to his cousin to say them.

But oh, the shining avalanche! He had known he loved his cousin, of course, but he had not known he loved him like this. At once, he tries to un-know again, un-see, but there is no dodging it.

A small incautious panicky movement—and the pain is back as if it had never been away. Then Findekano, alarmed by these incomprehensible goings-on, tightens his grip and agony shoots down Maedhros’s arm. Maedhros grits his teeth to stop himself from crying out. He does not need such complications. But none of it is Findekano’s fault, none.

The simple, obvious, inadequate things go unsaid. Maedhros is well aware of it.

 

***

 

The pain stops so suddenly he would tumble to the ground if those long-missed arms did not hold him. Before his disoriented gaze, a flowering branch swims into focus. After all that has passed in Arda Marred, the cherry tree still blooms, naked and unashamed against a fading sky.

‘Maitimo, what is it?’

‘Sorry. Thank you,’ he answers.

‘For what—anything in particular?’, Findekano asks.

He is trying to sound calm and reassuring, but fear claws at him. They are only three steps outside the gate of Lorien. Maybe, after all, this was too easy? Maybe he’s made a mistake nobody warned him of and Maitimo is about to turn into a wisp of cloud and drift back into Mandos?

But Maitimo leans closer against him, feeling more substantial rather than less, and says simply: ‘I don’t know. It came out like that.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loveliest of trees, the cherry now  
> Is hung with bloom along the bough,  
> And stands about the woodland ride  
> Wearing white for Eastertide.
> 
> [...]
> 
> And since to look at things in bloom  
> Fifty springs are little room,  
> About the woodlands I will go  
> To see the cherry hung with snow.
> 
> A.E. Housman


	2. To See the Cherry Hung With Snow: Take 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fell Winter in eastern Beleriand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Fell Winter of the First Age is the winter after the Fall of Nargothrond. It hindered Túrin's journey to Dor-lómin and Tuor's to Gondolin; their paths crossed at the frozen pools of Ivrin. Meanwhile, that winter must have affected others who were wandering in the wild...

It is the Fell Winter. Beleriand shudders under the onslaught from the North. The Pools of Ivrin freeze solid. In the East, the winter storms sweep through the Gap and down the Valley of Gelion, reaching far south. The wandering remnants of the House of Feanor are hard pressed.

Maedhros takes up his spear and goes hunting, together with Ceredir. They find no game anywhere, only at length half buried in the snow the frozen remains of a half-starved deer killed by wolves. They dig them out; the bones will still do to make broth with.

Wearily, they begin trudging the long way back to camp. About them, yet again, the wind rises, biting, howling, and the snowflakes begin their mocking dance. They pass through a clearing, the former site of an abandoned steading, it may be, and the icy bite of the wind intensifies.

Ceredir, who, being two-handed, is carrying the mutilated carcase of the deer, wades knee-deep through a snow drift, past a small cherry tree, out in the open by itself, groaning under the weight of the snow dragging its laden branches to the ground.  Suddenly, Maedhros’s body is no longer right behind him, lending him its meagre shelter from the wind. He turns and sees Maedhros, stopped beside the tree, brushing snow off with his gloved hand, carefully shaking branches free of their weight.

‘What are you doing?’ he mutters, sighing.

‘It seemed to be suffering’, answers Maedhros. ‘And, you know, it may yet bear fruit again.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ceredir is a follower of Maedhros who appears in several of my stories.

**Author's Note:**

> Posted to the SWG Archive in May 2013.


End file.
